Dommy Mommy Delivery Service

“Did you order a Dommy Mommy Supreme?”

Pause. You almost choke on your own saliva, and try to play it off as a laugh. The woman standing by your doorstep does her best to ignore your awkwardness. If anything, the warm smile on her admittedly gorgeous face deepens.

It does things to your heart, that frozen little thing that has not thumped for another soul ever since you got dumped a lifetime ago.

(But it was really last week.

Your fiancee, Yooyeon, did you dirty via text.

Not hours later, she posts a selfie of her wrapped in your best friend Sohyun’s arms.

Talk about maniacal.)

The distractingly beautiful woman clears her throat, shaking you out of your memories. She carries herself in a way that tells you she’s older than you are — not by much, but enough to jostle the butterflies forming in your stomach. You flash her a sheepish smile, and realise belatedly after looking at her for an embarrassingly long time that she’s wearing a uniform.

If you can even call it that: the blue polo tee hugs her top so tightly that all you can look at are her moun— ahem, curves, and it’s like the designers were saving on precious cloth with the way the hem stops right above the belly button. The pair of red shorts are, well, short, slung so low up top and ending so high up below that they might as well be panties. Nestled on her head is a red visor cap, the bill just as tiny as the shorts, her jet black hair ending in a high ponytail that spills to one side in a cascade of lush curls.

Her outfit serves to remind you of what you’re wearing. You look down briefly at your pilled-out college sweater, frayed sleeves and all, and a ratty old pair of pajama bottoms.

Rounding off the woman’s outfit is a name badge pinned haphazardly to the right side of her stretched top.

SinB, it says, in white lettering over green background. You mouth the name while staring longer than you should in polite company.

It’s— she’s downright pornographic, the sight alone sending shocks down your spine. She’s also shivering, though not for the reason you are, most notably with the way her exposed skin pebbles and the subtle tightening round the corners of her eyes.

“Shit, uh, come in?” The woman nods gratefully as you back away from the door.

Your jaw drops as she walks past you, your eyes drawn magnetically to her firm butt. Some of the flesh spill out of the too-tight shorts as her hips sway.

“My eyes are up here, darling.” Red dusts your cheeks and you look away, unwilling to meet her amused gaze. A finger touches your chin, curling slightly before turning your face to meet hers. The warm smile has a sharper, teasing edge now, as if she’s seen right through your very soul and knows what you want.

Which is pizza. But at the rate things are going, this woman is going making you want to change your priorities. And your underwear.

“Y-you’re from Domi—,”

“—my Mommy Delivery Service, yes,” she replies breathily. Nothing is making sense right now. You ordered pizza, not… this, as delectable as SinB looks and sounds.

“Can I see any uhh, pap—”

“—peronis? Of course.” You frown as she does a twirl. You make the mistake of getting distracted once again by her magnificent derriere and when you look back up, she’s topless. It’s like a fucking magic trick except this one is infinitely sexier. And like all good magic tricks, you didn’t even catch the moment she took off her polo tee.

You blink rapidly, taking in the glorious sight of SinB’s perky breasts jiggling slightly after she slows from the spin, chest pushed out slightly to emphasize her twin peaks. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“Nope,” she replies, mouth popping the final syllable. Her hand tightens around yours (when did she start touching you?) and drags you to the sofa before not-so-gently shoving you onto your butt, causing the pillows to be pushed to the side. A grunt escapes your lips as she straddles you, her long legs caging you on either side. You move to grasp her hips but she tuts her disapproval.

“No touching, baby.” The pet name sends another rush of arousal through your body. It’s supremely unfair, as if she knows exactly how to push your buttons, the ones that make you unbearably warm deep in your gut and makes your nerves light up like fireworks.

She’s strong too; you try bucking upwards but a simple flex of her glutes is all it takes to keep you seated, giggling as she does. Something about her laughter brings a twisted kind of rage bubbling up, though you keep your cool because while SinB might be objectively stronger, you’re cunning and scrappy.

So your hands slowly creep upwards—

The growl from SinB stills your movement.

“Which part of no touching do you not get, cutie?” That earns another shiver, which she takes in with her almond-shaped eyes that clock every bit of body language from your traitorous subconscious.

There’s just something about her voice — it’s sweet, not too loud, and maddeningly effective in breaking down your instincts to fight back and turning it around into a desire to obey. To say yes, momm—

No, no, no. You shake your head furiously at the thought.

Sinb leans forward, resting a hand behind your head. The way her fingers splay around the back of your neck, coupled with the penetrating gaze, all this attention is just so disorienting. You’re used to people looking at you, but being seen like this? You think you can get used to it. Especially when it’s from a hot older woman like her.

Her free hand tugs up at the hem of your sweater and in no time you’re topless as well. SinB hums appreciatively as her fingers trail from tummy to jaw, gripping your chin to maintain eye contact. Your ears heat up and she notices, pressing a light kiss on the shell of your ear.

Face pressed right against her neck, you catch a whiff of her perfume, a floral scent that seems so perfect for this gorgeous woman. Then she plies another kiss, this time on your forehead, and then on your right cheek, then left, then…

The rest of the night was a blur.

You remember her hopping off your lap and guiding you to your own room, telling you to take off the rest of your clothes. How she kisses you gently and how you did not want to let go.

You remember staring in fascination as she produces length after length of silk rope from her mouth (you wonder if she does birthday parties, hopefully yours). Her hands a blur as she loops and knots the rope round your body again and again, the rope bounding you in submission and emphasizing the swell of your breasts and the lift of your butt.

You remember how she undoes your body and mind time and time again with her slender fingers, curling to hit that spot just right and making you flex and strain, and how that only served to rub your wetness even more against your bonds.

You remember kneeling to worship at the altar of her womanhood, neck straining as your tongue drags up and down and you kiss and suck and drink all of her, even as you were still shackled by the ropes and aching all over.

The one constant were her breathy moans and sighs of good girl and such a good job and mommy’s proud. At some point you realise you’ve discarded your pride and gave in fully, drinking in all of SinB’s praise.

The morning after, you wake up to a deliciously sore body and a bed that was markedly colder than it was the night before. You’re also fully clothed, which is weird since you remember falling asleep while decidedly naked. You lift the hem of your sweater to peer downwards and realise that the marks you would expect to see from the ropes were gone.

Padding around the apartment yields zero signs of SinB ever being here. No discarded articles of her skimpy uniform, no mess of pillows on the sofa, not even a whiff of her delectable perfume. It’s almost as if last night didn’t happen.

You feel a pang of hurt at her abrupt absence, but also a pang of hunger. Whatever, breakfast should come first. Opening the fridge door, you see a blue and red pizza box in the middle section. You pull it out with a frown — you don’t remember SinB carrying it with her. But then again she does have her magical flourishes.

Right as you were about to dig into a slice of cold pepperoni pizza (breakfast of champions), you notice a yellow note attached to the lid of the pizza box.

Dear Ryujin, thank you for ordering the Supreme package for the Dommy Mommy Delivery Service. We hope you enjoyed your night and we look forward to serving you again.

“Who the fuck is Ryujin?”